


our capacity for love increases with each person we cross paths with throughout our lives and with each moment we spend with those people

by amazingakita, Grubbutts



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Animal Death, Dave and the Davids (that's how he names his crows), Don't copy to other sites, Gen, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-26 13:00:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18180923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amazingakita/pseuds/amazingakita, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grubbutts/pseuds/Grubbutts
Summary: You know it's been coming for a while now. Crows are only meant to live for four years, and Attenborough's been around for nearly as long as you have.





	our capacity for love increases with each person we cross paths with throughout our lives and with each moment we spend with those people

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Dave punching Bro, then going in for the hug.](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/466166) by Grubbutts. 



> i'm sorry
> 
> (title and opening quote are from griffin mcelroy, and still make me cry after however many listens it is now)

_"When someone leaves your life, those exits are not made equal. Some are beautiful and poetic and satisfying. Others are abrupt and unfair. But most are just unremarkable, unintentional, clumsy."_

You know it's been coming for a while now. Crows are only meant to live for four years, and Attenborough's been around for nearly as long as you have. She was the first crow you befriended; she adopted you as her own and has messed up your hair every time you stood still long enough. You've been bringing her food a lot more these past few months. The other crows are still feeding her, you know, but she hasn't been going out and hunting herself and you weren’t going to risk anything. She hasn't even hopped onto your head in the past week. Today, when you come up and sit beside her, she barely manages to hop into your lap.

You’re glad it’s a clear evening. A few wispy clouds trail across the sky, but you can’t tell whether their orange tint if from the glow of the city or the sun. The bowl of wet cat food you brought up here for Attenborough gets pecked at weakly and eventually ignored. You place it aside. You have no doubt the rest of the murder will feast on her leftovers. Attenborough lets out a grumbling coo, and you pet down her back gently.

"I'm here. Ain't leaving you alone." You'd like to think your words mean something to her, give her some comfort, but it's probably your hand that's helping her relax. Everything's quiet for a few minutes. The rest of the murder gather around you on the rooftop. You think this is everyone. That's unusual in of itself - Schwimmer has always hated you. It's his fault for trying to steal Bowie's eggs in the first place. The other unusual thing is the quiet. The murder are a rowdy bunch, but there's nary a caw to be heard. Some coos, a few rattles and clicks, but otherwise they're all quiet. Attenborough lets out a sigh, and you bring your attention back to her.

The sun is starting to go down.

"I got you, Attenborough. You're good. Everyone's here." She usually reacts when you say her name, a little tilt of the head as if she's going "Yes?" but there's none of that today. You push your shades up onto the top of your head - the setting sun isn't helping you see the dark crow in your lap, that’s  _all_ \- and ignore the way something blurs your vision for a second. Attenborough coos again, and you carry on petting her. You can feel the breaths getting slower.

The sun is halfway set.

You bounce your leg a couple of times as a way to try and get rid of whatever you’re feeling right now, but the loud caw that Attenborough makes is echoed amongst the murder and you stop instantly. "Sorry, sorry." You have to look up at the sky now. The clouds from earlier have gone, revealing the trails of planes.. You idly wonder, not for the first time, what it's like to see it without the smog and light pollution. The slowly fading light draws your eyes back to the horizon and then down to your lap again. Attenborough looks up at you, then her eyes slip closed. You blink slowly with her.

There's a few minutes of sunset left, and you spend it staring down at the crow in your lap. Attenborough's breaths are peaceful. It's almost like she's going to sleep - and god knows that she's fallen asleep on you plenty of times. She's done so much with you. She's always been there. You blink quickly now. Striders don't cry. Attenborough blinks one last time as the sun sets.

Her eyes don't open again. You lean over your lap, shoulders shaking, one hand covering your mouth. There's a chorus of caws, but you don't look up. You assume they're protesting you hiding Attenborough from them.

"The fuck are you up to with all these crows?" You assumed wrong. That's Bro's voice, but you can't look up. The crows don't like Bro as much as they like you, and a fair number flutter behind you as he walks up.

"W-W-" You stammer, unable to actually get anything out.

"Thought you'd grown out of that stutter." Bro says, knowing full well you haven't. You can't make a retort. You're actually pretty torn up about this. Attenborough is- was - your favourite, and you end up wiping at your face as you try to compose yourself a little more.

"Come on, kiddo. Gotta go downstairs. It's dark. " Maybe you should. Don't want to let Attenborough rot. You need to get her perfect, you know that much. You gather her- her body- up into your arms. Bro wrinkles his nose.

"You know the rule, no birds inside. Don't want the shits shitting on everything again." You don't know what overtakes you. Attenborough's body falls to the floor, and your hand hurts. You hit Bro. Punched him straight across the jaw. You breathe heavily, more tears brewing in your eyes. Bro recovers from his surprise enough to realise what's going on and opens his arms, allowing you throw your arms around him. The damn breaks, and you're sobbing into Bro's chest. Bro pulls you close and rocks you back and forth gently - away from Attenborough's body, you're glad to note among the heaving shudders wracking your body.

"She- she's-" you start.

"Shhhhhh, shh shh shh shhhh." Bro shushes you, rubbing your head. This is so uncool. Attenborough was family. You'd be worse than this if Bro died, but you don't think it'd be by much. Bro kisses the top of your head and holds you tight. This completely uncool but absolutely necessary display of emotions lasts for a good five or ten minutes. You frequently calm down a bit only to find a new wave of tears bursting out. Eventually you find it in yourself to pull back, wipe your eyes and slide your shades down and then pick up Attenborough.

"I'm going to my room." Bro nods at your statement. Preserving her body will help you through the grieving process. You know that. It's still going to suck. You pick Attenborough off of the floor and rearrange her wings to lie flat against against her back. Your vision swims, and you have to take a moment before you go down the stairs. Bro's right behind you, grumbling about his cheek. You don't regret it much. Before you can get into your room, Bro places a hand on your shoulder.

"Hey. I, uh. I got something for ya." You look up at him, raising an eyebrow. He's not even got the ice pack (read: frozen peas you sellotaped a red cross to) on his face yet. "C'mere." He jerks his head towards his room. You follow, being careful not to jostle Attenborough in your arms. She can't complain about it any more.

On Bro's workbench is a small wooden plinth - the sort used in taxidermy. Bro picks it up and holds it out to you, and now you see the engraved metal plate with "Attenborough" carved on it.

You can't see through the fresh wave of tears.

"I hope it's th' right crow, y'got so many of the damn th-" You push past the outstretched wood and pull Bro into another hug. This one's a lot more awkward than the last, as you only have one arm and can't crush Attenborough, but you still do your best to pull him close.

"Hey, hey." he murmurs, his free hand resting on your back. "I'm glad you like it." You can't do much but nod into his chest and cry. It's perfect, the one bit you were missing. Bro chuckles, patting your back.

"Did I get the name right?" Bro asks. You take that as your cue to pull back.

"Y-yeah. Than-nks." You're going to be a weepy mess for days. You wipe your eyes and take the plinth from Bro. Bro ruffles your hair and steps past you, into the kitchen. You wonder if he's left his cheek long enough that it'll bruise. You can now feel the ache from punching him in your hand, but you ignore it in favour of getting to work on preserving Attenborough.

 

* * *

 

Twenty four hours later, and she's mounted. You could probably have done it quicker, but you wanted to get this perfect. Which meant having to take a break whenever your eyes welled up. But it's worth it. She's perfect. You place her proudly on the shelf above your bed, right over your head. She can watch you sleep. She can look out the window. And she'll get a pretty good view of whatever you're doing on the computer. Right now, it's apologising to your friends for disappearing for a day. You'll show them the pictures in a bit. They'll understand.

 

**Author's Note:**

> credit to G for that gif (https://twitter.com/grayvyspeaks/status/1108247048057511937)


End file.
